


not so bulletproof

by Euphemius



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Genderswap, Montreal Canadiens, Pining, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 02:16:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1922958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euphemius/pseuds/Euphemius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex begins a love-hate relationship with the Montreal media and finds the home she’s never had before. </p><p>AKA the one where she lets Brendan Gallagher break down walls and build them up again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not so bulletproof

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know but I have a thing for genderbent hockey players.
> 
> This is like forty pages of angst, I'm so sorry.

Alex Galchenyuk gets her first NHL goal on a tip-in against the Florida Panthers, and Montreal is on its feet for her. When she’s surrounded by her teammates, drowning in their jerseys and the screams of the fans, she thinks, _this must be what it feels like to be alive._

She takes her next shift still high off her initial excitement. It’s not until after the game that the weight of what she did _really_ hits her — and it’s not until she’s surrounded by reporters that she gets a chance to awkwardly sort her confused, jumbled feelings into coherent sentences. 

“You know, uh. I don’t think about that stuff too much,” she stammers in response to the first question they shoot at her, one about her gender. Obviously. “Setting new records because I’m the first woman to play for the Canadiens is exciting, of course, but right now I’m just happier about _this_ —” she holds up the puck for the cameras to see, smiling nervously — “and not concentrating on what being a female hockey player means for the NHL.” 

It was the wrong thing to say, apparently. 

By the time she gets home and turns on her phone in order to respond to the dozens of congratulatory texts she got, six articles have already been published about her lack of tact. She knows it’s six because it’s Nail who sends her a link to every single one. Nail doesn’t like pulling his punches. And he knows Alex would rather know the honest and blunt truths of a situation, anyway. 

Some of the articles have titles that make her lose sleep. 

_Galchenyuk undermines woman representation in the NHL._

_First woman to play for the Canadiens doesn’t appreciate the privilege granted to her._

_Alex Galchenyuk casually dismisses NHL women’s issues; believes herself to be above her female peers._

There’s nothing in those articles about the strong play she gave (for her second game), nothing about Markov’s goals, and nothing about Price’s stops. Because why would sports columnists care about actual hockey when they could be discussing their rookie’s lack of dick?

Nail’s links are automatically followed by a barrage of short messages. 

_wanna talk??_

_jk, want me to fly over to u so we can get hammered together??_

_i can probably be there in 5 hours_

_jk, not even sad gally tears are enough 2 make me go m.i.a and have the oilers flip shit_

Alex only responds with a curt, _Fuck you_ , before turning off her phone in disgust. 

Because it’s not _fair_ , especially since she’d been the one coerced into answering the horribly sexist questions in the first place. 

Feeling ‘alive’ has never been such a pain in the ass until now. 

 

 

Alex first meets Brendan Gallagher at the Canadiens training camp. In the beginning they don’t room together but his room is the one across the hall from hers — and on their first night he knocks on her door and intrudes into her life without so much as a regretful smile. 

Alex and Brendan are together when names are cut from the roster and players are sent back to Hamilton. They’re generally always together from that moment on.

There’s something about Brendan that Alex can never shake off. In the beginning, he annoyed her. Her immediate impression of him was that he was too lighthearted and too upbeat about everything. And she didn’t want to be friends with someone who she believed had a terrible work ethic.

Brendan proved her wrong straight off the bat. He had a tendency to do that — to present himself as unremarkable and not NHL-worthy, and then suddenly blow everyone away with the trail he leaves on the ice. His presence lights up the locker room, mutes out the roaring of the Bell Centre, and steadies the tremors in Alex’s knees when she waits out the national anthem. 

If complete opposites existed, Brendan Gallagher would be hers — a fire to her calming coolness. And yet, the supposed distance that should exist between them is nonexistent and insubstantial — he can’t be more similar to Alex than the way he returns like a full circle to her, understanding her silence better than anyone else on the team could. 

It isn’t until Brendan’s own first goal comes, in a win against the New Jersey Devils, that Alex realizes she wanted Brendan the way Brendan wanted the glittering blur of an ecstatic home crowd, the way Brendan wanted the ice — raw and searing like a childhood passion. 

She’d jumped into his open arms when the goal came and they’d yelled themselves hoarse together. “Fuckin’ yeah!” she’d cried, at the same time he’d chimed “Fuckin’ _right!_ ” into her ear. 

 

 

Boxing is one of Alex’s favourite sports to watch, right up there with hockey, and sometimes she goes to tournaments with her sister Anna. If the boxers recognize her (which is rare, but does occasionally happen), she’ll ask them for a photograph and then some quick pointers on basic fighting finesse. Anna will always give her a _look_ , because while Anna wants Alex to be able to defend herself, both sisters know fully well how women fighting in the NHL is something that just simply _doesn’t happen._

“Sweetie,” Anna tells Alex, who’s scribbling the tips she learns onto the palm of her hand. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“I just want to play hockey,” Alex replies, calmly. “I want to play _NHL_ hockey. There’s no NHL hockey without the fights.” 

Alex goes to a boxing tournament with Brendan after a loss to the Senators. It’s their first real ‘outing’ together where it’s just the two of them — but it’s not a date, simply roommates getting to know each other better. It’s also their first night rooming together at all — something Brendan insisted upon after he found out that rookies _always_ roomed together on the road, gender be damned. After a lengthy discussion with her public relations representative, Alex had conceded. 

“I know nothing about this sport,” Brendan admits once they’re settled into their seats, raising his voice so he can be heard over the crowd. 

Alex points out the boxer who’d given her tips the last time she came here. “He once taught me how to deliver a nasty uppercut.” 

Brendan laughs, and Alex can’t describe the relief she feels once she realizes he’s not going to ask her _why_ she needs to know how to deliver an uppercut. Instead, he says, “I could show you how to do one on the ice, if you want. Gorgey gave me some pointers.”

“For real?” 

“Yeah. I’ll even throw on a goalie mask, and let you take some swings at me.” He’s grinning at her, chewing his gum, and Alex can’t help but grin back at how stupid his smile looks. 

“You’ll need more than just the goalie mask,” Alex warns him. 

“What, you think you could do some real damage to me?” 

“Yeah,” Alex says, just as the show begins and the crowd’s humming grows louder. She couldn’t care less about the show anymore, to be frank. “We’ll need to stuff the mask with bubble wrap. And I think you should put some hockey pads on, too, just to be safe.”

“Bubble wrap,” Brendan says seriously, stretching his arms above his head, “Is _awesome_. It should _not_ be wasted on punching practice. You know what? After this, we should go to some office depot, and buy out their stock.” 

Alex grabs his arm, her eyes widening. “Holy shit. Guess what.” 

“What?” Brendan says, alarmed.

“You’re a huge freak.” 

“Screw you!”

Brendan spends the rest of the night arguing with her that someone who _doesn’t_ appreciate the finer aspects of life, like bubble wrap, is the freak, not him. In the end, hardly any attention was paid to the boxing ring, but it doesn’t matter much. It turns out that Alex was never really into boxing as much as she was into the way Brendan makes her words stutter sometimes. 

They don’t end up buying the bubble wrap, but they do take the long way home to their hotel room instead, just to enjoy the scenery. The guys give them shit for it once they return and tease them about how their outing was _basically_ a date, but Alex reasons sensibly that dates usually don’t involve watching two half-naked men beat the shit out of each other. There’s like, sweat and blood involved, and stuff.

“Kind of like hockey,” Prusty says after a fair bit of thought. “Only with less skin showing. If there’s anyone whose first date would involve going to a hockey or boxing game, you’d be the right candidate, Chucky.”

“Shut up,” she grunts at him, although she knows he’s right. She hates the nickname Chucky, anyway. 

 

 

Alex gets into her first hockey fight in a game against the Bruins a week later. The general unspoken consensus between her and the six other women in the NHL is _don’t initiate fights — you don’t want to attract negative attention to yourself for any reason whatsoever. Only stick up for your teammates when it’s absolutely necessary. Think about all the women who want to play in professional sports. You’re representing them, so don’t screw up_ — but all that is hard to remember when she sees Brendan take a dirty hit and go spinning across the ice, stick flying out of his hand. 

She hears blood in her ears. Before she knows it her gloves are flying off and she’s headed straight for the Bruin, swearing with every Russian curse word she knows. 

The guys on the bench applaud her, of course — they shout _attagirl, Chucky_ , and bang their sticks against the boards. But later there’s a cascade of articles written about how Brendan Gallagher needs a _woman_ to protect him and how he can’t defend himself. Nothing about how Alex did pretty well for her first fight (though she probably lost — the guy she went up against was a monster, and one of his punches made her head ring for hours afterward), nothing about how they won the game anyway, and nothing about how Alex made up for her penalty minutes by lighting up the back of the net twice. 

Just vicious needling and disappointment that she was the Canadien’s third draft pick last year. 

Michel Therrien doesn’t buy that shit from the press. Alex likes that a lot about their coach. 

“We’re happy to have you on our team, Alex,” Therrien tells her seriously after the game, even though Alex’s eyes are downcast and she’s counting the smudges on her skate blades. “I can’t tell you how proud I am of you, for sticking up for your teammates — it lets us know that you’re someone we can count on.”

“I’m the first woman to initiate a fight in the NHL,” Alex says tonelessly. “ _Ever_. The press is gonna have a — a field day? with me.” 

Therrien translates her nervous English to mean _shit will go down_ and shakes his head firmly. “The Montreal media is a different animal in its own right. There will always be ups and downs about it. But I can assure you that management and the guys on the team have your back — and that’s all that matters. I trust that you will make sound decisions and will only instigate a fight you believe is truly worth the minutes in the box.” 

“Brendan Gallagher is my friend,” Alex says softly. 

“I know,” Therrien says, before clasping Alex’s shoulder and guiding her out of his office. “I know, Alex." 

Like Therrien promised, there are also some articles that take Alex’s side, arguing that it was about time one of the female NHL players had a fight — and for those words, she’s eternally grateful. But in the end, the one voice she wants to hear from most is silent. Brendan's. 

“I don’t need you to protect me,” Brendan tells her finally, a whole twenty-four hours later. He probably only decided to start talking to her again because they _room_ together, god damn it, and he doesn’t have the choice to perpetually ignore her.

Alex wants to retort that he didn’t seem all that fazed when Prusty defended his honour earlier that season, or how he doesn’t seem to mind that Gorgey sticks up for him when they’re being interrogated by the press after a loss. _You don’t need a_ girl _protecting you_ , Alex thinks, filling in the unspoken words between them. She almost feels betrayed, like Brendan’s gone over to the nasty side of the Montreal media. 

But she doesn’t say any of that. She just shrugs and pulls the bed covers over her head and busies herself on her phone.

She mostly feels anger — at herself, at Brendan, but mainly at herself for giving a damn in the first place. 

Later that night, Nikita texts her _nice 1 alex!! heard about the fight. u made headlines here (so impressive!!) missing u a lot_

Nail texts her as well. _sorry this is late — but that fight wasnt bad!! i know ur just gonna pretend it wasnt a big deal, but can we forget about that for now and just appreciate how badass u were??_

It’s nice of them, because Alex knows that Nikita and Nail have games of their own to focus on. She sends _thanks — ill talk to u later_ to both of them before sliding her phone under her pillow and lowering her covers, just enough to see Brendan staring at her from his side of the room.

“It’s not that I’m mad,” Brendan whispers. If Alex squints, she can make out the whites of his eyes in the dark. He also has that pinched look he gets on his face whenever Carey stops one of his shots in practice — the one he manages to quickly hide with a lopsided smile. “It has nothing to do with you being — a girl. Really, Chucky.”

“You don't have to lie to me,” Alex whispers back, coldly. 

“No. I was just upset I couldn’t return the favour. I was upset I got you into that situation in the first place. I mean, that guy really got you good, huh?” One of Brendan’s hands come out from underneath his sheets to gesture at Alex’s lips. “You're still bleeding.”

“Oh,” Alex says, touching them. A quietness settles over her once she realizes Brendan has never left her side after all, along with the sudden overwhelming desire to kiss the melancholy out of the winger. There’s nothing that can soften her temper more than Gally’s puppy eyes. 

“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” Brendan tells her. “You’re my best friend, Chucky.”

“It’s okay,” Alex murmurs. Alex forgives him easily, because she knows that hockey players tend to have stunted emotional development and aren’t good with apologizing or admitting they’re wrong or recognizing they’ve let someone down. She’s the same way. Probably more so than Brendan, actually. 

They play the Leafs when they return home two days later and they lose terribly, 6-0. But that's nothing compared to the shock she gets when they play the Bruins again and she’s booed by the crowd every time she touches the puck. It doesn’t matter, though — because she has her support system, and the Canadiens, and at least half of Montreal (the greatest hockey city in the world, by far, forever and always) behind her. And she has Brendan Gallagher. Brendan makes it easy to forget the bad crowds, if only for a moment. 

So when she scores a goal against gold-and-black, she responds to the jeering audience by touching the tips of her gloves to her lips and raising the glove in mock salute. She whispers — barely mouths — _for you, Brendan Gallagher_ , and holds these whispers like prayers tucked loose under her tongue, something for her to carry wherever she goes. 

 

 

They become better friends because of the fight. They play on the same line together, sit beside each other on the bench, and are the first ones to jump into each other’s arms after a goal. They’re still on-the-road roommates, and now they do photo shoots together. Montreal calls the two of them “Les Gally” like they’re indistinguishable and come in a package deal. But they’re also still better strangers than Alex would have liked.

Hockey players don’t talk much about their personal lives. Alex knows all of Brendan’s stats — down to his WHL and AHL years — but nothing about Brendan’s relationship with his mom or what his favourite type of yoghurt is. Similarly, Brendan knows nothing about Anna Galchenyuk — who is Alex’s everything outside of hockey.

So she has Brendan and Anna meet each other for drinks after the Toronto game. 

Anna is everything their mother wanted Alex to be — everything one expects in a lady. Their mother is supportive of Alex’s career choice, of course, because she doesn’t really have any other option. Alex has already made her decision — that she’s going to play hockey forever, no matter how many teeth she loses or how unlikely it’ll be that she’ll find a suitable husband who will want her with her firm jawline and her rough babyish look that refuses to leave her face.

Anna is Alex’s polar opposite. Where Alex swears by a life of a full-contact sport, Anna won’t go outdoors without designer clothes on and celebrity sunglasses that cover half her face. Where Alex weighs almost a hundred and sixty pounds at five foot ten, Anna is all modelesque bones and soft curves that barely reach a combined weight of one-ten. And where Alex keeps her hair loose and messy and her face make-up free, Anna embraces the life of a hair diva and flawless make-up artist. If it wasn’t for her chubbier cheeks that hide any sign of harder, more masculine facial features, Alex could maybe pass as a boy. 

So introducing Brendan to Anna might’ve been a bad idea. 

“Your sister’s so _hot_ —” Brendan whistles after Anna leaves their table for the restroom. “Seriously. Is she single?”

“She’s not interested in you,” Alex says, scowling. “You’re way too young for her.”

“Aw, I’m kidding! Like I could stand a chance with her anyway. Man, you two don’t even look remotely alike.”

Alex’s face burns. It’s just a chirp — the guys make fun of her looks in the locker room all the time — but this is different, because it’s true, and not in a good way. 

“Fuck off,” she mutters, pushing at Brendan’s shoulder, but the winger doesn’t even seem to notice Alex when he sees Anna coming back.

“Can I get you another drink?” he asks Anna hurriedly, ever the gentleman that he is. 

Anna thanks him and sits down across from Alex. Both sisters watch Brendan leave. 

“So?” Anna asks her. 

“So, what?”

“So, why am I really here?” 

“I just wanted you to meet some of my teammates,” Alex replies tersely. It’s not untrue. “You’ve already met Prusty, and it's been a month, and I know that I’m gonna be with the Canadiens for a while, so —” 

“Oh, honey,” Anna says, laughing at her. “You don’t need my seal of approval to do anything. You know that, right?”

 _It’s not that_ , Alex thinks helplessly. _It’s that maybe I’m trying to test the guy I’ve been crushing on by seeing how he reacts to you, and maybe he’s not gonna pass this test._

Anna must see the conflicted look on her sister’s face, because she pulls out a red pouch from her handbag and passes it to her. “Open it,” she commands, and Alex does.

Alex pulls out a small golden chain with a charm that says _27_ hanging off the end of it. There’s another chain in the pouch, too, and that one has a charm that reads _73_. 

Brendan has come back with the drinks, and he stops behind Alex to gaze at the necklaces. Both look up at Anna questioningly.

Anna shrugs. “You know Montreal is crazy about you two rookies, right? All those photo shoots and calling you "Les Gallys". You guys are inseparable. I thought it'd be cute if you had matching necklaces.” And Anna gives Alex a _look_ , the one that says she knows exactly what’s going on between her and Brendan, and there’s nothing here that needs to be explained. “You’re going to be in Tampa Bay for your birthday, Alex. I figured you should have this now.”

“Thank you,” says Alex quietly, and hugs Anna. The difference between the two sisters could never provoke any envy for the amount of love they had for each other. Brendan thanks her too and also leans down for a hug before quickly sitting beside Alex. 

“Maybe we should switch it up a little,” he says, grinning at her. “Give me your number, and you can wear mine.” 

It’s only after they have their necklaces clasped on, and are laughing at each other for how much shit they’re going to get for it from the team, that Alex notices Anna has slipped away into conversation with another man. Brendan, meanwhile, hardly brings Anna’s name up for the rest of the night, even when the topics of conversation shifts beyond hockey to more personal stuff like what it was like for Alex to follow her father’s dream all over the world, or how close Alex is to Nikita and Nail. When he _does_ mention Anna, it’s to inquire about her black cat Floyd or her figure skating skills — and not for the purpose of surreptitiously ogling her in his mind’s eye. He really only has eyes for Alex that night, and his tiny gold necklace, and Alex. 

Alex also learns that Brendan and his mother are pretty damn close, and that his favourite type of yoghurt is strawberry.

 

 

They win an ugly game against Lightning for her birthday. Alex misses her chance at a goal, and then once more during the shootout, but she tries not to dwell on it. Earlier that day, some of the guys thought it’d be funny if they stole her and Brendan’s shirts so that they’d have to exit the plane in only their jackets — though in Alex’s case, a jacket and a bra.

There are about a dozen pictures snapped of her shirtless, probably on their way to rapidly distribute themselves all over the Internet. Alex doesn’t mind. She’s in too much of a good mood to mind, and they’re signed into one of Tampa Bay’s beach hotels. Scantily-clad women was not an unusual sight to see on the streets. Even Pleky and Markov ragging on her about the new necklace isn’t enough to lower her spirits.

Everyone’s too tired to go down to the beach after the game, but Alex and Brendan do spend some time on the balcony together just enjoying the breeze and salt water smell. Then Brendan insists that because it’s her _19th birthday_ , they should at least spend some time playing in the sand instead of staring at it sullenly like total fucking losers. 

“But I’m tired,” Alex protests weakly after he makes this suggestion.

“Come on, don’t act so old and stuffy,” he whines. Alex watches the way his bottom lip turns upwards when he pouts. “You don’t want to end up like Prusty or anyone else, do you? I bet they’re all asleep already, tucked into bed like giant babies.” 

“First you call them old, then you call them babies,” Alex grumbles, one foot already halfway out the door. “Make up your mind.”

“They’re old babies,” Brendan says, grinning. “Old, wrinkly babies with pruney heads and droopy eyes.” 

“Old, wrinkly babies with saggy necks and triple chins,” Alex adds. Then, as an afterthought, “Thanks for that mental picture.”

Neither of them brought their swimsuits to Tampa, but they did bring a lighter change of clothes in anticipation for the warm weather, so they wear that. Alex loves Montreal — really she does — but she also likes not having to gear up like she’s going to the North Pole every time she wants to step outdoors, and she’s glad for this opportunity to enjoy the sun.

Brendan goes shirtless. It’s not like it’s the first time Alex sees him like that — she changes with twenty other guys on an almost daily basis — but it _is_ the first time since training camp that he’s going shirtless for an extended period of time (besides when he sleeps, in which case he’s always practically naked. She concurs). 

He looks good — he’s at the height of his physical conditioning right now. He claims it’s because he added a lot of extra bulk to himself over the extended off-season. Anyway, Alex is a mature fucking adult, and can control her wandering eyes. 

“If you were a guy,” Brendan says, plopping himself down next to her on the sand, “Which of these girls would you say is best looking?” 

Alex hits him on the arm, to which he gives her an indignant look. “I don’t need to have a dick to figure out who’s the best looking.” 

“Fine!” Brendan laughs. “So, who?” 

Alex looks, before finally settling on a girl who’d look remarkably like Brendan if he had boobs and a smaller ass. She hopes she isn’t being too obvious when she points and says, “That one.”

“Nice taste,” Brendan says. “But I’m really not that into brunettes.”

“You’re a brunette,” Alex sputters. 

Brendan pushes her knee. “You just think I’m so damn self-centered, don’t you?” He points to another girl beside the female-Brendan-clone. “How about that one?”

And. Oh, God. Women-watching with her crush is not how Alex had envisioned spending her 19th birthday. _Especially_ not when Brendan says “Hey,” nudging her, and then “Help me talk to her.”

Alex blinks at him. “You’re kidding me.” He has to be.

“No, seriously. Look, Chucky, I’ve never even been in a relationship before. Not that not being in one is bad, or anything,” he says hurriedly, catching Alex’s blank stare. “Just, you know. I’m starting to want the company. I never take anyone home. I never even _talk_ to women, I’m too awkward around them. Except for you, of course. You’re different.”

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”

“Like, I don’t see you as one of _them_ , you know?” Brendan says, gesturing vaguely at a group of women in the water. “You’re just. You’re Chucky. That’s all.”

Alex feels her heart sink. She doesn’t know why — it’s not like she _ever_ expected Brendan to return her feelings. It has everything to do with her being a majorly-scrutinized figure in the NHL, and everything to do with the fact that Brendan is her teammate in a professional sports league. “What do you want me to do?” she says flatly, not liking where this is going at all.

Brendan must have caught her annoyance, because he’s immediately a lot more shy about his request. “I don’t know,” he says, kicking at the sand. “I was thinking you’d maybe talk to her or something? And then, you know.” His neck and ears begin to turn an interesting hue of red. “Introduce her to me? We don’t have to do it, Chucky. Let’s just go back.”

“No,” Alex says stubbornly, because now she _wants_ to do it, if only to prove to herself how little she cares. “No, I’ll talk to her for you.” And then she stands up, brushes the sand off her legs, and saunters over to the girl next to the female-Brendan-clone. “What a great idea, Brendan Gallagher,” she mutters sarcastically to herself on her way over. “I’d love to do this for you, Brendan Gallagher. You’re only the first guy I’ve ever been interested in since I had that weird dream about Nail my first week in Sarnia, Brendan Gallagher. You dumb shit.”

And that, that makes her stop. Because Brendan is a teammate she’s wanted to kiss for the past month, yes, but he’s also so much more than that to her. They're best friends. They spend all their time together. She knows how he secretly still loves the Oilers, and how he has a massive gay crush on Wayne Gretzky’s puck-handling skills, and how he cries over Gilmore Girls, and how he’ll always watch Martin St. Louis’ highlights after every Lightning game (including the one they had today). And she knows how he makes her feel — warm and clenched like she can’t breathe, and undone and disconnected like she has too much to breathe. 

And for him to want someone else so easily — for him to not spare her a second for the amount of time she’s spent looking at him — that’s — 

That’s not fair. 

“Chucky.” There’s a hand loose on her shoulder, and she shakes it off only to see Brendan standing beside her. “Are you okay?” His calloused fingers are drumming against her bare skin, and Alex can only think about how she’d rather he didn’t touch her at all. 

“I —” she starts. 

“Don’t call me Chucky,” she finishes.

He just gives her another one of his sloppy smiles, the ones that make a girl wonder what his lips would look like wet and shiny. 

“Let’s just go back,” he says. “I can’t pick up girls on the road, because what about you?” 

Alex’s breath hitches, just slightly. She still doesn’t look at him.

“I mean,” Brendan continues. “You’d probably have to stay in someone else’s room. That’d be rude of me, wouldn’t it? Especially if I didn’t give you a warning beforehand, and you just walked in accidentally, or something.”

Feeling as though she’s slowly being pulled back to Earth, Alex sucks in a deep breath and replies, “Like you’d be able to pick anyone up in the first place.”

“Yeah, well. Screw you too.” 

 

 

Because all the women in the NHL are basically one tight sorority that knows everything about everyone and believes that it’s their business to make everything their business, Claude Giroux approaches Alex before their game together.

The guys kind of stare at her as she boldly traipses across the ice during their pre-game stretches with eyes only for the Hab. When she reaches Alex, she drops to her knees so that they’re eye-to-eye and says, “We need to talk.”

“Want me to come with you, Chucky?” Brendan calls from across the ice. Prusty shushes him. 

“It’s okay,” Alex says, before getting up and following Claude. 

“First, I want to say congratulations on your fight,” Claude says grimly as soon as they’re out of earshot of the team. “I’ve always been told by my PR rep not to start fights, but, you know, whatever. It was about time _someone_ did. It’ll probably give me an excuse to punch Crosby in the neck next time I see her. So, thanks.” 

“Cut the crap, Giroux, what do you want?” Alex says. 

“Jesus, woman, touchy. Okay.” Claude grabs Alex by the shoulders. “What are the Unofficial Commandments of Hockey Conduct?”

“I don’t…know?”

“Brotherly love, never touch the holy grail unless you’ve rightfully won it, yadda yadda. Okay, at least we have that out of the way. Now, what commandments are even _more_ important than those ones?”

“Never eat yellow snow?” Alex tries pitifully. She lives in _Montreal_ , for Chrissake. 

“No. The Unofficial Commandments of Hockey Conduct _for Players Without A Penis_.” 

“I wasn’t aware there _was_ such a thing.” 

“There is. I made it up. You’ve probably been subconsciously following it. You wanna know what’s at the very top of these commandments, Galchenyuk?” 

“Are you just gonna keep asking me questions I don’t know the answer to just to watch me struggle and grow more confused?”

Claude Giroux finally drops the bomb. “ _Never_ start a relationship with another hockey player on your team.”

Alex freezes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, very slowly, because she _doesn’t_ know. 

“You know, besides a couple other teams — like the Leafs, bless them — the Canadiens are under the _largest_ media scrutiny. Blame it on your twenty-four Cups, I don’t know. But they really help spread around the one thing you don’t need right now — gossip and bad press. And you’re only a rookie too. You need to learn how to survive in this world, woman. Be more careful with what you do.”

“Like what?” Alex says, frustrated. Because she's not stupid. She would never date a teammate (assuming said teammate wanted to date her in the first place). It’s totally unprofessional and everyone would find out and she’d get booed out of the city, or something. “What am I doing?”

Claude jabs a finger hard at Alex’s chest, and the 73 necklace Alex is wearing jingles a little. “Just a helpful tip from one girl to another. Girls in the NHL already have it bad enough as it is. I don’t know what happens to teammates who get together, but frankly, I wouldn’t want to be the first to find out. I know you and Brendan Gallagher are close, so just be careful, okay? Anyway, I'll see you on the ice," she says, shrugging, before walking out of the room and leaving Alex completely stunned and partially angry. 

Mostly angry at herself.

She didn't think she'd been obvious at all. 

Her temper is only fueled later when Brendan takes a nasty hit from one of the Flyers and has to be escorted off the ice. Later, the entire team is told that he has a concussion. Alex wants to find Brendan in his (well, Gorgey’s) home and curl up next to him and protect him and kiss his hair, but after what Claude told her, she’s too mad at herself to even _think_ about approaching Brendan.

Claude was right. 

Alex hasn’t been discreet enough with Brendan. She hasn’t been careful. She doesn’t want to let a stupid crush get in the way of her dream to play in the NHL, and she won’t jeopardize Brendan’s future, either. She takes a deep, shuddering breath in the locker room, and tells her hormones to sit the fuck down. 

“Hey,” a voice comes from in front of her, and she jerkily looks up. “You OK?”

“Hey, PK,” she says tiredly. “Yeah — I’m fine. Why?”

“For a moment there on the ice I thought you were gonna jump Schenn like you did that Bruin,” PK jokes, sitting down next to her and unlacing his skates.

Alex scowls and turns away. “That was a one time thing. It’s not gonna happen again.” 

“Whatever you say, Chucky.” He pats her knee. “And hey, listen. Gally’ll be alright.” 

“I don’t care,” Alex says gruffly, before checking herself. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just mean I know he’ll be fine, too.” 

PK leans across her and flicks her necklace. Alex considers ripping the stupid thing off and hurling it across the room. “Tell Gally to take more of those fish oil pills,” he says. 

“Sorry?”

“They’re good for concussions.” 

“Why don’t you tell him yourself?”

PK blinks at her. “I would, but I assumed you were going over to check on him tonight, to see how he’s doing. Aren’t you?”

Alex blinks right back, and finally lets a grateful smile break. Of course she’s going to check on Brendan. She touches the charm, encloses it in her hand, and smooths over the cool metal with her thumb. “Yeah. Duh.” 

One thing she likes about PK is that he doesn’t pry. He claps her on the back and leaves her be, just like that, knowing that she needs some time alone for a while. He’s an atmosphere-reader kind of guy. 

When Alex is finished changing and preparing to return home for the evening, she pulls out her phone and texts both Nail and Nikita simultaneously, realizing how utterly screwed, fucked, and deep in shit she’s in: 

_I’m in love with Brendan Gallagher._

_how long?_ Asks Nail. 

_how do u know?_ Asks Nikita. 

She replies, _i have no fucking clue_ , to one, and _because i think ive become so good at waiting for him that theres nothing else i know to do_ , to the other, before realizing that that was cheesy as hell — but it isn’t like Nikita’s going to judge her. 

That evening, Gorgey meets her at the front door before she can even knock. He was probably expecting her. He puts a finger to his lips and tells her, “Brendan's completely out of it.”

Alex makes a grimacing face. “Yeah? Well. It was a bad hit.”

“Let me know if he wakes up, alright?” 

Alex nods and lets Gorgey lead her to Brendan’s room before he closes the door behind her. Then it’s just her and the snoozing figure huddled in the corner of the bed. 

She goes to sit next to him, the mattress dipping under her weight, and when she finds Brendan’s hair sticking out from underneath the covers she runs her fingers through it. 

And then something terrible aches in her, because she realizes that here is a person who has started something inside her that will not leave and here is the only person she can never be with. 

Alex could probably never get tired of watching Brendan sleep, but the logical part of her reminds her of how creepy she’s being and urges her to pull out her phone for lack of anything better to do. 

There’s a flurry of new texts she got, most of them from Nail. 

_whatre u gonna do? idk how this female-in-the-NHL-thing works. hell, how does dating in the NHL work?_

_ur born with a dick, get really good at hockey, and date whoever the hell u want so long as it’s not a teammate_ , Alex replies, trying not to sound bitter about it. It’s a little easier over text. _unless ur gay. in which case u suppress all ur natural instincts and pretend that ur not. i dont know. i dont think anyones ever acted on falling in love with one of their teammates before, u know? its not something that happens bc everyones too scared of a bunch of different shit._

_there are seven women in the NHL. there are eighteen more coming to the draft this year. u dont think managements gonna expect any romance to happen between teammates at all?_

_i think theyll just expect us to act professionally and dont do anything,_ Alex replies. If she wasn’t so fucking scared of getting rejected by Brendan, then she was scared about what would happen to her career if she acted out of her place. 

_i think ur making this out to be a bigger deal than it really is. chances are management would rather have u do what u have to do instead of making u hide it and cause secrets and drama in the locker room. ur team is ur family. just dont publicly announce ur love or something so the press doesnt have a meltdown and ppl wont think ur doing it for attention._

_Nail_ , Alex texts, very seriously, because he didn’t understand. _you haven’t seen the kind of shit the press can say — what they’ve already said about me. im not willing to take any risks. I could never act on these feelings._

_yes i have seen what they can say alex galchenyuk because i actually read every article they publish about you because surprisingly i give a shit about u. the only chains that exist are the ones you put around your own fucking wrists._

_that was real deep, nail_ , Alex replies sarcastically. She knows he’s upset with her so she switches to messaging Nikita instead, hoping for some more sympathetic advice.

 _the thing is is that ive never thought about how much i liked him until now when i realize ive been real fucking obvious about it_ , she says. _even claude giroux noticed. and that woman isn't exactly NHL's most observant player._

 _whatre u gonna do?_ Asks Nikita, and for God’s sake, Alex wishes people would stop asking her that. She doesn’t know. She hasn’t the faintest idea. 

_i dont know? drown my feelings in cheap whiskey?_

Nikita must be disappointed in her reply, because he doesn’t respond. Pissed at both her friends, Alex powers off her phone moodily and rolls into Brendan’s bed. The winger is just a foot away from her, and she can feel the mattress move every time he takes a breath. The tempo steadies her lungs, and soon she times herself so that her own breathing matches his. 

“Hey,” Alex whispers to no one in particular. She wonders what Brendan is dreaming about. She wonders if he’d mind if she wakes him up so they could idly chitchat about things that don’t matter. Even though he's _right there_ , Alex still misses him horribly. “I’m gonna start Gilmore Girls so we can talk about it and watch it together when we’re on the road.” She thinks hard about that for a second, and then adds, “I want to sit beside you on the plane, next time. I know it’s not tradition. But I bet you’d get a kick out of drooling on my shoulder more than you would playing Candy Crush with no one to talk to, waiting for Gorgey to never finish playing Blackjack.” 

She almost falls asleep before she remembers that Anna’s still home waiting for her to get back. So she leaves Brendan a hastily scribbled note before she goes — _eat ur fish oil pills!! i left some of mine here with u. subby says theyre good 4 concussion_ — and slips silently out the back door without so much as a goodbye to Gorges. 

 

 

Brendan recovers from his concussion, gears up for a game a week later, and life moves on. The Habs re-acquire Michael Ryder, a veteran who so happens to wear Brendan’s 73, which means that Brendan has to switch his number to 11. Alex firmly decides to continue wearing the 73 necklace (although she’s a lot more careful about wearing it in public). It’s a little weird at first to technically have Ryder’s number on a chain around her neck, but she quickly gets over it. In her mind it doesn’t matter what number Brendan is. The necklace is something special between her and Brendan (and a slightly interfering older sister). 

Early in March is the first time that season the Canadiens play the Penguins. It’s an annoying game in which twelve goals are scored and Alex spends a couple minutes in the box, but ultimately the Penguins win and the Canadiens head to the locker room defeated. 

Sidney Crosby pays them a visit after the game. Specifically, she pays _Alex_ a visit.

“Jesus, Chucky, are all the women in the NHL just conspiring together?” Prusty laughs. “Why do they keep needing to talk to you, Alex?”

“Do you want me to come with?” Brendan asks again, hopeful sounding. It’s Pleky who shushes him this time. 

“I’m good,” Alex says, before waving at the boys and heading out with Sidney. Then, when they’re far away enough, Alex says, “If you’re here to give me the don’t-date-hockey-boys-because-we’re-girls-and-have-it-really-hard-already-and-also-you-might-ruin-your-life speech, save it. Claude already gave it to me.” 

“What?” Sidney blinks. Out of all the female NHL players, she’s probably one of the prettiest. Her eyelashes are half a mile long. “No. I — what?” 

“Oh,” Alex replies dumbly. “I guess I just outed myself, huh?” 

“Hey, I really couldn't care less,” Sidney holds up her hands in mock surrender. “I just wanted to talk about the fight you had with that Bruin.” 

“Are people still on that?”

“People will _always_ be on that,” Sidney says grimly. “I wanted to let you know that that doesn’t matter. I think what you did, standing up for your teammate, was great. I have your back — all the women in the NHL have your back. Even if we’re on different teams.” 

“Thanks,” Alex says softly. She hadn’t been expecting _this_. She’s always had a lot of respect for Sidney Crosby, because Crosby was the first woman to play professional hockey here and she basically changed the face of hockey forever when she blew down doors to let women in the NHL. If it wasn’t for her, Alex wouldn’t be here right now. She wouldn’t have met Brendan, either. “You’re not the hockey-playing robot everyone says you are.”

She feels like maybe that was the wrong thing to say, but Sidney just takes it into stride and laughs it off. They do a weird handshake-shoulder-bump sort of thing and exchange numbers, and Sidney leaves Alex to return to her teammates. Alex wonders if Sidney would still have her back if Alex ruins the reputation of all women ever by making it public knowledge that she likes Brendan in a more-than-friends way. 

She can imagine the articles that’d be written, then. She can imagine what people would say, then.

 

 

The months keep coming and going. 

Alex goes through a scoring slump, and Montreal doubts her abilities. Therrien insists that he’s keeping her and that she isn’t going anywhere. Brendan, meanwhile, has an amazing rookie season — one that makes Alex’s shoulders droop, because she was the Habs’ third pick overall and that burden still lies heavy on her shoulders. 

He’s called a ‘serious contender for the Calder’ while she’s called a ‘first rounder with a lot more growing to do’. 

Worst of all is what the media is saying about Les Gally. The two are still lumped together in discussions because of how hilarious everyone finds that they both share a similar last name, but now the fans are _comparing their stats_. Their penalty minutes, their shots on goal per game, their ice time, their assists. Alex hates it because she’s too competitive for her own good and she likes Brendan too much to despise him for beating her.

Alex is also no longer playing on the same line as Brendan — instead, she’s put on a line with Ryder and Moen. She still impresses many people due to the fact that she was demoted to playing primarily on the third line, but Alex — being herself — is still always wishing she could do more. She’s almost constantly in a horrible mood, and shuts out everyone except Nail and Nikita and Prusty sometimes, and though she can’t help but feel proud of Brendan for his accomplishments, she still can’t stand talking to him when she’s angry with herself all the time. 

Especially because she still hasn’t figured out what to do with her feelings for him. So instead of dealing with them, she just ignores them. 

She’s in a particularly sour mood when they’re lined up for a faceoff and the player across from her is muttering sexist remarks, too softly for the refs to hear. Alex usually doesn’t get too many blatantly sexist comments on the ice — most hockey players have more class than that — so she’s particularly surprised at this guy.

And then she’s particularly _infuriated_ when she hears what he has to say, all taunting and condescending and dripping with malice — about her pussy and his cock and how she’d probably feel better bent over his dick than getting knocked around the ice with a team that couldn’t skate for shit.

And that. That was the last straw. Because now he was talking about her _teammates_ , and no one insults her teammates. 

She spears him in the dick.

It’s the dirtiest move Alex has ever pulled in hockey, and her face burns with shame, but she also feels incredible satisfaction as she watches him crumple in front of her while hearing the simultaneous gasp of fifteen other men on the ice as they instinctively take a step backwards.

She knows she’s going to be given a match penalty and a suspension for that, so she easily helps herself off the ice. 

But all in all, it was a good fucking day for her. 

Even the cascade of articles that are published that night can’t change that. 

 

 

About nine different people tell Alex they’re disappointed in her straight to her face. Her mother. Her father. Her PR representative. Nail Yakupov. Nikita Zagryadskiy. Brandon Prust. Brian Gionta. Michel Therrien. Marc Bergevin. 

Her mother, father, and PR representative are all sympathetic when she explains the reasoning behind her actions, and they’re a lot calmer when she apologizes profusely for her loss of temper, but they still reprimand her for having gone off like that. 

Nail and Nikita forgive her almost immediately. That’s what best friends are for, anyway.

Prusty understands easily, too. He’s not the guy to take anything too seriously. And he still acts as though Alex is a kid who doesn’t know any better, which, though annoying, causes him to make more excuses for her than he normally should. 

Gio’s disappointment is more difficult for Alex to swallow. Gio has always looked out for her, acted like a pseudo-father figure (since all the other guys generally acted like her brothers), and stuck up for her both on and off the ice. But when he hears Alex’s side of the story, he adds that if he’d heard what the guy had said, he’d probably have gone after him if Alex hadn’t. That makes her grin widely and give him an awkward hug. 

Michel Therrien and Marc Bergevin are a little harder to convince out of their anger. “Being taken off the roster is not going to help your scoring slump, Alex,” Therrien tells her, and Alex _knows_ he's right. “You should have taken the matter up with the referees.”

Alex wants to snap, _like they’d care, they’re all men, they’ve probably all been hit in the balls at some point and wouldn’t take my side, god fucking damn men_ , but it’s never a good idea to talk back to someone who can make your life very miserable and so she stays silent and looks at her feet instead. Therrien is a fair coach. He’ll yell in the locker room but never when he’s one on one with you, and Alex has a lot of respect for him for that. 

Bergevin sighs when he sees that Therrien’s not getting very far with her and says, “At least the player you speared is also getting a suspension.”

Alex’s head snaps up immediately and she brightens. “He is?”

“It wasn’t the first time he directed offensive slurs towards a woman on the ice.” And Alex cheers inwardly, because in a way, it’s true that every woman in the NHL has each other’s back — despite how nosy they all may be.

“You’re going to have to learn how to control your temper, however,” Therrien warns. “If you can’t figure it out by yourself, I’ll have to hire someone to help you.” 

“I can do it myself,” Alex says hurriedly, because if her mother finds out that a professional had to be hired to teach her how to behave like a decent human being, she’ll never hear the end of it. “I swear to you, Coach. I won’t let you guys down again.”

“You usually don’t let us down, Alex,” Therrien says. “You’re a good kid. We know that.” 

Anna, meanwhile, is on Alex’s side, like she always is. “Yeah,” she cheers when Alex tells her. “Stick it to those douchebags.” 

And Brendan — well, they’ve been drifting apart lately, what with how focused he’s gotten into the game as the season dwindles to an end, and with how focused Alex has gotten on trying to improve her on-ice behaviour _and_ trying to purposely shut him out at times. But he’s still one of Alex’s best friends. That much hasn't changed. She hasn’t stopped ignoring her feelings for him or stopped using hockey as an excuse not to think about him — but she values his company all the same, even if the company he offers is only that of a very platonic friend.

He has her back, too. 

He’s actually the one who suggests helping Alex out with her temper. “I just smile,” Brendan says happily when Alex asks him what _he_ does.

Alex shakes her head. Brendan is not the right person for her to ask. The last thing she wants to do is smile at someone who makes sexist remarks at her or insults her teammates. She’s different from Brendan. Her pride needs to be handled in a different way — it stretches too tall, too thin. And she’s a woman playing a man’s sport. 

 

 

When Alex finally breaks her scoring slump after her return from the suspension, it’s in Montreal against the Bruins and she’s giddy with excitement. She’s on the bench with Brendan and pointing out plays excitedly to him, even though they don’t play together on the same line anymore. Actually, she’s been averaging less than ten minutes a game — which is concerning, but something she can think about for another time.

For now — she just wants to make the best of it, and _prove_ to Therrien what she’s capable of bringing to the team.

They come back from intermission and Alex is immediately benched with Brendan. She’s adjusting her chin strap next to him when the kiss cam turns on — and it’s focused directly on the two of them.

The Bell Centre goes _wild_. 

Alex grins but keeps her eyes on the ground, repeating Claude’s words in her head like a mantra. She feels Brendan tug her jersey and she obligingly offers a cheek, because — well, at least she’s not initiating the kiss. Brendan lays an extremely sloppy, wet one on her. It makes her feel as though she’d just been licked by a giant dog. 

Therrien gives her the next shift. Alex doesn’t score again, but at the end of the game, they’re still the winners, and Alex is given first star. 

And on top of that, they’ve basically cinched their playoff spot. 

 

 

It’s Alex who takes a nasty hit this time from one of the Capitals. She should have been able to dodge it — she sees the d-man before she feels the collision — but she feels too sluggish in the moment and doesn’t have enough time to prepare her body for the impact, and he hits her the wrong way and she goes flying over the boards and into the Capitals’ bench. 

There are hands all over her, pushing her, grabbing her hair, pulling her up — she doesn’t know. But all she can feel is the stabbing pain of her right leg — a leg that people are stepping on, touching, _moving_ — and Alex can’t help herself. She lets out a small cry and then a loud “ _Fuck!_ ” and grabs her knee.

The whistle is blown. The Canadiens skate over to the Capitals’ bench and there’s a flurry of shoving and swearing that occurs before someone gingerly pulls her to her feet. 

“Can you skate?” one of the medical staff asks her. Alex shakes her head and bites her lip. She doesn’t think the injury is too bad — well, she doesn’t have bones sticking out of her leg — but it still makes her chew down on her tongue in frustration.

“I think I twisted something,” she admits. 

“Can you put any weight on the leg?” 

Alex shakes her head again.

Brendan’s immediately at her side, slinging one of her arms over his shoulders. The medic is on her other side, and slowly they slide Alex off the ice, where she hobbles away to get seen to. Brendan stays on the ice, watching her leave.

“Hey, are you okay?” Brendan calls after her.

Alex wouldn’t have looked back — she was too focused on the pain — except it was _Brendan_ , and she’d always look back for him. “I’ll be alright,” she assures him, and watches his face light up in relief. 

 

 

The news is that she’s to be taken off the roster for at least a month. The disappointment Alex feels in her chest is unbearable. She’s going to miss her first playoff series in an already-shortened season in her rookie year. And this is just going to give Therrien more excuses to give her reduced minutes next year if she takes too long to get back into shape.

Alex has played her last game of the season. 

 

 

Brendan visits her after they return from their game in Toronto. 

“She’s pissy,” Anna warns him, even though Alex is in the room _right there_ and the _door is open_ and Alex can hear her. Brendan nods in understanding. 

Brendan goes to sit on Alex’s bed, and Alex is oddly reminded of the time _she_ went to see _him_ when he was concussed. “I’m mostly okay,” Alex tells him before he has the chance to ask. “My knee’s fine in the mornings. Only, in the evenings it swells up and gets stiff, but it’s not that bad.”

Brendan chuckles. “Montreal thinks I miss you.” 

“We don’t play on the same line anymore. Why would you?” 

Brendan casts his eyes downward. “I know. But after the Capitals game, the reporters wouldn’t stop asking me how I felt about you getting injured. And, also, it was the first time on the road I had the whole hotel room to myself. So. That was pretty lonely.” 

Alex freezes, her mind completely focused on what Brendan said - that the _reporters wouldn’t stop asking him how he felt about her getting injured_. Has she been found out? Were they on to her? Did they know that Brendan was the love of her life?

“Not the first time you roomed alone,” she responds carefully, trying to shake the thought off. “Remember our very first away trip?”

Brendan thinks, before nodding. “Yeah. I guess. I didn't know you back then, though.”

Alex clears her throat. “So, what did you tell them? The reporters.”

“I told them you were an important aspect of our team and that I hoped you would get better soon so that I’d have someone easy to chirp and make fun of in the locker room.”

Alex punches him lightly before shifting herself in the bed, grimacing slightly when her leg moves. They’re safe, probably. For now. Alex’s feelings still remain a secret. Alex’s close relationship with Brendan still isn’t anything beyond an obligatory friendship between teammates and ex-lineys. Nothing suspicious about their relationship at all. She pats the empty space she makes, and Brendan takes a seat there and puts his feet up. 

“I do miss you,” Brendan says, after a short moment of silence. He nudges Alex’s injured leg gently with his foot. “It’s not the same without you on the bus with us or on the ice. It feels…absent, somehow. Even though you hardly ever talk on the bus anyway. You just have your headphones in and play games on your phone.” 

Alex snorts, although he’s right. “It’s because I don’t want to listen to your voice.” 

But hearing Brendan say all that — it’s the last crack in the dam for her, apparently, because suddenly her eyes are welling up with tears. It has nothing to do with her leg and how much pain she's in. Rather, it’s an accumulation of everything that’s happened so far in the past year — all the shit she’s gotten from the Montreal media, the double standards that exist with women, and the pressure she feels as a girl and as a third pick and as a woman-sports-representative and as Brendan Gallagher’s best-friend-but-not-more. And though she’s had to constantly prove herself her whole life — work twice as hard to reap the same reward as any male — now she doesn’t even have that chance anymore since she decided to go and crack her stupid fucking knee. On top of that, she can’t even crawl out of the bed to support her own team in their games. 

She swipes hotly at the tears that threaten to run down her cheeks and she pointedly looks away. 

Brendan looks absolutely terrified. He’s never seen her break down like this before. 

He quickly huddles up to her, all nerves and awkwardness and unsure of what to do. He even pets her hair, for God’s sake. Alex bats his hand away. 

“Sorry,” she says, frustrated at herself. If there’s anything she learned from watching the other women in the NHL play, it’s _never show any sign of weakness_. Crying is a sign of weakness.

“Crying isn’t a sign of weakness,” Brendan says immediately, as though he can read her mind. Alex snorts.

“Yeah, alright.”

“It isn’t,” Brendan insists.

“Doesn’t matter. Don’t tell anyone about this, you hear me?”

“Yeah.”

Alex drops her head in Brendan’s lap and closes her eyes, taking deep breaths and trying to calm herself down. For a wild moment she imagines video cameras in her room, or audio recorders taping every conversation she has with Brendan. If Nail knew she has thoughts like those, he’d never stop laughing at her for her paranoia. 

She feels Brendan thread his fingers through her hair, untangling the messy knots and gently smoothing her hair out. It should have been weird, but she’s so charmed by the rhythmic movements of his hands that she just takes it and listens to him chatter faintly in her ear. “It’s alright, darling, I’ve got you,” he jokes, when she’s almost completely asleep.

Alex would give him a strange look, but by that point she’s way too drugged up and out of it to move. She soon falls into a heavy sleep, lulled by Brendan’s warmth and Brendan’s scent and everything so very distinctly _Brendan_. 

 

 

It’s the middle of the night when she snaps awake, because there’s an uncomfortable pressure on her leg and an unsettling realization whirring in her head.

 _Brendan Gallagher is here_. In her room.

Alex shakes him. “Get up, get up,” she says urgently.

“Whuzzat?” he mutters.

“Get up! You have to go home. Gorgey still thinks you’re here with me. Oh, God. Gorgey still thinks you’re here with me.”

“Who cares,” Brendan moans, blearily rubbing his eyes open. 

“ _I_ care, Gally. Do you know what the press will say if they find you sleeping here with me? You have to go _home_.”

“Seriously?” Brendan says, and now he actually sounds upset. “It’s like — it’s like fucking 3 AM in the morning, Chucky. I don’t even have a ride back. Maggie drove me here. You aren’t seriously kicking me out?”

“I am seriously kicking you out.” And Alex knows she’s being a huge asshole at the moment. Brendan _just_ got home after two away games and he has another big game tomorrow against the Flyers. And he came here anyway to visit her and sleep uncomfortably half-hanging off her bed. Alex knows all this, but she still can't suppress her fear. “What if the press finds out?”

“What if the press finds out about _what_?” Brendan snaps. “What the fuck does it matter? You’re not making any sense, Alex.”

He never calls her Alex. 

Alex takes a shuddering breath and tries to calm herself down. “I just don’t want our teammates to give us shit if they find out you slept over. I’ve been really moody lately, okay? I just. Don’t want to take it,” she lies.

Brendan sits up and squints at her. Finally, he nods. “I get it,” he says, ruffling her hair, his lips perking in the corners. “It’s alright. I’ll go.” 

“Thanks so much.”

Brendan shrugs. Alex watches him as he climbs out of her bed, careful to avoid her leg. “Um — I can’t see you to the door —” she starts.

“I wasn't expecting you to.” Brendan leans over and presses his lips to the top of her head. He holds himself there for a second before letting her go. It’s hardly a kiss, but Alex’s hands immediately go up to feel her scalp anyway, right where Brendan’s lips just were. It’s still a kiss. “You’re really scared about this stuff, aren’t you?” 

“Girls get a lot of shit in the NHL,” Alex replies, giving Brendan as much of the truth as she’s ever had. “For the smallest reasons. I just — I can’t be seen with you now.”

“Okay,” Brendan says. “I’ll come visit you tomorrow, then, after the game?” 

“No,” Alex says immediately. She makes a split decision in that moment — because the best way to protect herself is to be emotionally distant. It’s what makes her so damn good at hockey, anyway. “I can’t be _seen_ with you, Brendan.” 

Brendan’s face tells her that he doesn’t understand, that she still isn’t making any sense. But he leaves anyway, and doesn’t look back. 

 

 

Alex thinks about Nail, and Nikita, and spends much of her bedridden time texting them, even though she doesn’t often get long-written and well thought out texts in return. It’s easy to think about them because her relationships with them are clear-cut and defined. Nikita is more of a brother to her than anyone else. And Nail — well, she could have easily fallen for Nail instead of Brendan. At least Nail wouldn’t be her teammate, and at least they could run off to Russia together and hide their relationship or something, and at least she knows that Nail would love her back if she ever confessed. 

It would have been easy, loving Nail. 

 

 

It’s funny how close Alex gets with some of her teammates when she’s not seeing them daily. Her and Ryder become pretty good friends. It’s important to have chemistry with your linemates, after all. Her and PK get pretty good at texting each other back and forth, too, and they begin to have the kind of closeness that makes Alex wonder if she can trust him with her secrets. But Montreal’s media is a different animal, and learning to trust your team is still fraught with the perils of exposing one’s weaknesses and liabilities. 

Alex has never had a true home before Montreal. She was born in Wisconsin and moved to Europe when she was four, living in Germany, Italy, and Russia before moving back to North America at fifteen in order to start her hockey career. Even in the the Americas, she spent time living all over the place — Chicago, then Sarnia, and now Quebec. 

Of course Alex wouldn’t trade a secure home environment for less hockey — she’s happy about the sacrifices she’s had to make — but now she’s unsure of her place here and whether it’s worth getting too attached to the people around her. Even teammates — who are basically one’s family-of-choice — come and leave often. It’s how the business goes. The fact that Nail is one of her closest friends says something about her long-term friendships, because she’d only been friends with Nail for two years before their draft came and he was sent across the country from her. 

Alex thinks about how ridiculously happy Brendan is and how he smells faintly of Gorgey’s dog and how he chews on the end of his stick when he’s anxious. She thinks about how some people let a Brendan Gallagher pass by in their lives without letting him utterly consume and fill their selves with unpublished secrets and wrecked holes and an affluence of chaotic feeling. She thinks about how she’s always made her home in hockey and in people, and she wonders what it would be like to build a sanctuary between Brendan’s bones and never be scared of leaving — or him leaving her. 

 

 

The regular season ends on a high note — two wins, one of them being against the Leafs. Alex feels recovered enough that she can walk around with a brace, as long as Anna accompanies her wherever she goes. Both of them attend Montreal’s first playoff game against the Ottawa Senators. Some fans hold up signs made especially for her when they see her return to the Bell Centre, lagging slowly beside her sister. 

_We’ve missed you, Alex!_

_Les Gally isn’t the same without you!_

They lose the first game, 4-2. Brendan gets the second star, though, and Alex tries making eye contact with him before he leaves the ice. She doesn’t succeed. There’s something off about the way he’s moving and in the way he’s playing. He’s as concentrated as he always is — Brendan never lets anything get in the way of hockey, because that’s the kind of person he is — but Alex can still feel it in her bones; he isn’t himself.

She wants to smooth out the frown on his face and hold him close like he did for her. And she wants to be out there on the ice with him, centering him — feeling his calm presence soothe the tension in her arms, knowing he’s there to watch her back, knowing she’s there to watch his too. And she wants to kiss his eyelids after every loss and whisper _darling, darling, I have you too_. But she doesn’t do any of that and only follows the guys out of the arena.

Anna and her sit together in the corner of the locker room and listen to Therrien as he gives them a speech about how they were going to fucking take this back. Therrien’s rallying cry is met with a roar of approval, but it’s stilted somehow. It’s not as wholehearted as it should be. 

“Get well soon, Gally,” PK tells her afterward, seeming to have forgotten in that moment that her nickname is Chucky more than it is Gally. Brendan's nickname is Gally. “If we can drag this series out — which I know we will! — then we’ll need you out there.” He gives her an encouraging look and jumps up and down in the spot, skates still on his feet, loose laces flying all over the place. “I can feel it. This one’s it, baby!”

So Alex decides to take PK’s advice to heart and she tries to concentrate on getting better. This includes avoiding looking at Brendan when she leaves — which isn’t hard, because he isn’t looking at her either. The Canadiens steal the next game — Brendan gets second star again, and Alex can’t help it when she watches him make the goal and feels her chest seize up — and then they’re off to Ottawa.

 

 

They’ll be spending the next three days in Ottawa and Alex and Brendan are roommates for the trip (Anna deems her well enough to go alone). Neither have spoken to each other in three weeks. 

Alex takes her spot on the bus next to Prusty, who she usually sits next to. In go her headphones and off she goes with Candy Crush on her phone. Just a couple rows ahead, Brendan does the exact same thing.

Prusty catches her sneaking peeks at Brendan and gives her a _look_ , not dissimilar to Anna’s infamous look. “How’s your knee?” he asks her, forcing her to pull her attention away from Brendan.

“Huh? Oh. It’s getting there.” 

“Think you’ll be back for the next round?” 

“My trainer says maybe. Probably, actually.” 

Prusty shifts in his seat so that he’s facing her. He drops his voice. “Listen. I know it’s none of my business —”

“So why are you asking?”

Startled, Prusty sinks back in his seat. “Sheesh. Alright, sorry.”

“No,” Alex says heavily. “I am. I’ve been irritable lately.”

“It’s fine.” 

A beat. “Are you gonna get Brendan anything for his birthday?”

Prusty chuckles to himself before shaking his head. “I don’t know. Should I? I’ll get him my jersey and force him to wear it. It’s not like he got me anything for _my_ birthday.”

Alex smiles briefly. “Same.”

Prusty gives her another side-eyed look. Alex feels like maybe Prusty _knows_ her secret — but she’ll be damned before admitting anything herself. And then she hears him sigh beside her. “You know,” he says thickly. “Whatever it is, we’ve got your back, right? You can trust us. Not just me. But the entire team. We’d never judge you — or send you away. You’re blood to us, Chucky.” 

Alex can’t meet Prusty in the eye when he says all these things, so instead she turns to look out the window and jams her volume up three or four notches. She knows that she’s been giving off weird vibes, that the entire team can feel her unease — but she doesn’t know how to tone it down. It comes with missing Brendan. Because missing Brendan is a state she’s perpetually in, and not just a throb she feels occasionally. It’s part of who Alex is — part of how she defines herself. She’s not much else besides hockey and loving Brendan Gallagher. She wouldn’t have it any other way. 

The rest of the ride carries on in silence. 

 

 

They get absolutely slaughtered in the next game. So it goes.

Alex doesn’t see Brendan until he stumbles into their room at 2 AM after the game, utterly smashed. “What the fuck, Brendan?” she asks, because although they don’t have a game tomorrow, they’re still in the middle of a playoff series, and she never thought Brendan was this irresponsible. 

Brendan mainly ignores her in favour of kicking off his shoes and collapsing into his bed.

Alex sits down beside him and helps him tug off his jacket and his shirt. She hooks her arms under his and moves him the best she can so that his head’s on the pillow, careful not to strain her knee.

And then she looks at him. He’s almost completely passed out but he won’t stop staring back at her, too, and Alex feels like there’s a part of her that’s unraveling or breaking apart or becoming unhinged. It’s the sort of feeling that makes her feel like it’s necessary to break furniture or let herself get swept away by Tampa’s tides or kiss the inebriation out of Brendan’s oblivious, uncomprehending face. 

“I’m going out tomorrow while you guys do your practice skate and I’m gonna get you something,” she murmurs to him with a tender feeling in her chest, not caring that he won’t remember this tomorrow. “Maybe the last season of Gilmore Girls. Happy birthday, right?”

Brendan says something unintelligible, his eyelids already drooping with fatigue, and Alex feels her entire heart melt. “I’m sorry for pushing you away,” she says, more to herself than to the winger. “I’m a screw-up and a huge coward. I really hope we fix this — whatever this is — between us, because I fucking miss you. It’s been like three weeks and we haven’t talked. You’re still my best friend.”

She piles his blankets on top of him, and then dumps her own blankets on him too — in case he gets cold or something during the night. Because she sure as hell isn’t going to be here when he wakes up the next morning. There’s too much tightness in her throat for her to deal with him tomorrow. 

So she grabs her keys and a pillow and goes to knock on Prusty’s door. “Can I sleep here tonight?” she asks him pathetically, head hung and tone eerily sober, when he opens it. 

Prusty nods and lets her in and doesn’t say anything more about it. 

 

 

The next morning Alex finds herself out shopping, trying to buy something for Brendan’s birthday. She doesn't know what to get. And people keep distracting her — recognizing her, or asking her for autographs. She patiently signs every piece of clothing they have on their bodies and smiles for photos, while really just wanting to scream in frustration.

 _what do u think brendan would like for his birthday?_ She texts Nail after she’s finished taking pictures with the entire population of Ottawa and rubbing her sore cheeks from fake-grinning.

_thought u guys had a falling out_

_we did. this is gonna be my way of saying sorry. so it has to be something meaningful and profound_

_aww galls u know i dont do that shit_

_if i get him a bracelet, do u think hed wear it?_ Alex jokes, thinking about Brendan wearing a necklace and a bracelet and a whole other assortment of jewelry. 

_id like to see that. but no. try something more personal. something u made, or something that means a lot to u. I bet hed dig it and u guys will be bffs 4ever_

_jealous??_

_ive had you to myself for long enough_

That makes her laugh, because she _knows_ Nail, and she knows he gets jealous easily. She can’t blame him. With the way hockey players live their lives, it’s hard sometimes to hold on to people. 

She knows he’s right about the gift, though. Alex doesn’t have anything personal on her, so she abandons the idea of getting Brendan a gift altogether and simply decides to return to their hotel room and apologize for pushing him away. And then apologize for everything else. 

The team’s probably already had lunch together and are on a break by the time Alex is heading up to their room. If she’s lucky, she’ll catch Brendan alone. Alex doesn’t know what she could say to him — telling the whole truth about why she’s been so distant would mean confessing _everything_ , and that’s not something she’s quite prepared for yet. 

But she wants to try anyway. Maybe just the sight of Brendan’s stupid face will set her gears in motion again. And maybe then the pieces will simply fall into place. 

When her phone vibrates, it’s not because of Nail or Nikita but because of Prusty. _Hey, have you seen Gally? He missed team breakfast and lunch. Therrien doesn’t want to scratch him, it’s playoffs, but no1’s seen him._

 _i was out, dont know where he is_ , Alex texts back, heart jumping to her throat. Brendan never, ever misses a mandatory team meeting. _ill check our hotel room._

Something is off and Alex can feel it humming at the back of her mind. 

When she gets to their room, standing in front of their door, all she hears is a slight murmuring noise coming from inside the room. Confused, she presses her ear against the wall, though she can’t make out any distinguishable sounds. She slides her card key into the lock and then jiggles the door handle open, ready to yell, ready to apologize, ready to have her best friend back — ready for anything at all. 

Alex stops short. 

Brendan’s on his bed, shirt off and jeans unzipped and panting. He jerks up immediately to see who’s there, and when he sees Alex, his eyes widen almost comically.

There’s someone underneath him. Brendan is partly obscuring her, but then she giggles and sticks her head out to meet Alex’s eyes. Alex doesn’t know her. She's a pretty brunette who’s wearing Brendan’s cap on backwards and has the look of the girls she’s seen in bars or beaches, the ones Brendan’s always swearing he’ll manage to pick up one day. 

“Oh — is that — is that Galchenyuk?” the girl asks, before she laughs nervously at the expression on Alex’s face. “I’m so sorry! Oh, God, we’re sorry —” and then Alex turns around and slams the door shut behind her, fleeing the scene of the crime as fast as her crippled leg can take her. 

The elevator doors don’t open fast enough, god damn it, and so she’s heading down the stairwell, breathing hard through her nose. It doesn’t matter where she’s going, so long as it was far, _far_ away from Brendan. 

“Alex — Chucky — wait!” 

Brendan catches up to her in no time — damn his longer stride and her knee — and grabs her arm. 

He’s still almost completely undressed.

“What were you thinking?” Alex hisses at him, her voice reverberating in the narrow stairwell. “You were completely hammered last night. Therrien’s thinking about scratching you tonight. We’re in the middle of the fucking _playoffs_.” 

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” Brendan tells her uselessly, and Alex sees red.

She wrenches her arm away from him. “Yeah?” she says, shaking. Alex doesn’t even know why she’s so angry. If it was anyone else who’d caught Brendan like that, they’d be disappointed — for sure — but they’d also be able to laugh it off eventually. 

Laughing is the last thing Alex feels like doing at the moment. She may be feeling like spitting. “No shit I wasn’t. Anyway, it’s none of my business. You need to get to the rink. Tell that girl — whoever she is — to go home.” 

“No, I mean —” Brendan throws up his arms in frustration as he watches Alex continue to limp down the stairs. “Will you just _listen_ to me for a second? Why’ve you been so distant with me? Why did you push me away the night you hurt your knee?”

“What does this have to do with me?” She answers quietly. Alex looks straight ahead, concentrating on not putting too much weight on her leg, having to lean on the railing to do so. 

“Everything!” Brendan runs down the stairs, two at a time, and plants himself in front of her and grabs the railings on either side so that he’s blocking her route. “Chucky, I’ve been a mess without you,” he tells her. “I don’t know why you didn’t talk to me when you went through your scoring slump. Then I see you taking your necklace off whenever we have a media scrum. Then we stop playing together on the same line and then suddenly you’re distancing yourself from me and spearing guys in the nuts —”

“He _deserved_ that, get out of my way —”

“— and then your play is off, so you’re taking stupid hits and hurting yourself —” 

“That wasn’t my _fucking_ fault —” Alex says, her voice rising — 

“And I thought you were just angry with everything, since you got hurt —”

“I _was_ angry because I got hurt! I’m out of the fucking playoffs! The one you don’t give two shits about!” 

“But then you send me all these mixed signals that tell me it’s not your knee at all!”

Brendan’s out of breath and panting.

“Chucky, you _never_ cry, until you did, and I was so confused, because you never tell me _anything_.”

He takes a small, shuddering inhale, and Alex doesn’t want to explain anything to him. Why should she — what did she owe him? “You know what,” she breathes harshly. “I don’t owe you shit.”

“You told me you never wanted to be seen with me again, out of the complete fucking blue,” Brendan pushes forward. “Chucky, you never minded before. ‘Les Gally’, that didn’t bother you. The kiss didn’t bother you.”

“What kiss,” Alex lies stubbornly, just so she can piss Brendan off. Of course the kiss cam didn’t bother her — it was just a joke, something they were basically forced into doing to appease the fans. 

Brendan looks genuinely confused. “You know, the one —”

“For fuck’s sake, fuck you, of course I know,” she snarls, before pushing at his shoulder. He must not have been expecting that, because he actually stumbles backwards. Alex takes the opportunity to step smartly around him and continue her slow descent down the stairs. 

But then she stops, because why the hell is _she_ the one running away? She spins on Brendan, feeling absolutely betrayed and absolutely heartbroken when she remembers the look on the girl’s face — the one in her and Brendan’s room. Because it’s always been Brendan for her. But she’s never been anyone else’s. 

“That’s not what this is about. Why are you bringing women back to our hotel room — _our_ hotel room, Gally — you said you wouldn’t do that — and in the middle of the fucking _playoffs_ —” 

“Because I can’t function without you!” Brendan cries, and that really makes Alex pause. “I see you — I see you _all the time_ — and yet I feel like we’re continually drifting away and apart and past each other. I miss you _all the time_.” 

Alex stands there, silent. She still has to remind herself to breathe. 

“I miss you all the time,” Brendan repeats, a little brokenly. “And the girl — she doesn’t mean anything to me. I swear to you. I screwed up. I fucked up bad. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for whatever I did before to push you away or have you push me away. I’m sorry. Chucky. Alex. I _feel_ —” 

Alex watches Brendan exhale. 

It’s like feeling as though she’s finally becoming unraveled, only Brendan’s there unraveling with her. There’s something so tender and sweet about the way he looks at her, the way his eyes search Alex’s face preciously like he’s worried she might leave him. The edges of his teeth are scraping his bottom lip ever so slightly and there’s the faintest trace of a wisp of a playoff beard growing on his cheeks and it’s these details Alex notices as they defuse — exhale — balloon back to Earth together — as she suddenly wonders what to do with her hands. 

She wants to tell him. She wants to let him know about the fire he’s lit underneath her and the glass she walks on with her bare feet and how she’s so fucking scared all the time that it’s like second nature to her. She watches him look at her, searching, searching, like she has the answer to a question he hasn’t asked, and she wants to tell him. She has never so badly wanted to tell him before now. 

“Yeah,” Alex answers, and damn her because her voice cracks. She means, _yeah?_ as in, _me too about everything you said, and I’m sorry too, and I miss you too, and I can’t function without you, too, and I also feel_ — but the magic about Les Gally is that they don’t need all these words to be able to understand each other. 

Brendan gets her silence best, after all.

The stillness hangs heavy between them, and all of a sudden it’s like neither can meet each other in the eye.

And then, and then — like the mature adult she is, Alex is the one who finally breaks it. “I actually came to find you so that I could apologize, you know. And also because I was finished looking for a birthday present for you. I couldn’t find anything I thought you’d like.” 

She’s quieter now. She doesn’t have anything left in her to yell anymore. She’s exhausted her fuel and she wants to sleep away the summer. 

Brendan laughs. Even that sweet sound rings more faintly in her ears as well. “You don’t have to get me anything,” he tells her, almost shyly.

The quietness between them is so agonizing that Alex slowly releases her grip on the railings — her knuckles are completely white — before wrapping her arms around Brendan’s middle in the fear that both of them, explosives in their own right, may go off again, and this was the only way to keep themselves contained and grounded. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she eventually explains to him. There is too much to say and too many places to start, so she begins in the simplest way she knows how. “And — all the stuff you said? It didn’t bother me. None of the stuff bothered me, you know. Not the Gally jokes, not the kiss.”

“Alright,” Brendan says, before pressing one to the top of her head. “Then here’s another.”

 _Oh_ , Alex thinks dumbly. _He must have meant the kiss he gave me when I hurt my knee. Not the one at the Bell Centre, on the kiss cam_. She hesitates, because she isn’t sure where to go from here. 

She starts by letting him go. 

Alex misses his warmth almost immediately when she pulls away. And she wants to reach out, more than she’s ever had before, because now they’re both at their most vulnerable, stripped down to their barest.

“It’s alright,” Brendan says, although Alex hasn’t said anything yet.

“I’m sorry for pushing you away. I didn’t want to.”

“It’s alright,” Brendan repeats. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“I want to,” Alex says, choking up. “I want to but I have no idea what to say, and where to start, and I’m just. Sorry.”

Brendan can only smile. “I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

“I know you will.”

And that, that’s all they say. 

It’s enough, somehow. 

Brendan’s looking a little teary-eyed. He was always the more emotional one. “You can give me one of your jerseys for my birthday,” he says seriously. “I bet Montreal would get a kick out of that. I’d wear it all the time, too.”

Alex thinks about Prusty’s words and grins. “Yeah,” she agrees. “Montreal would.” 

Brendan’s holding her hand when they descend the rest of the stairs together. 

 

 

Montreal would get a kick out of Brendan wearing Alex’s jersey. 

The full and complete meaning of this statement hits Alex slowly, some time after Brendan comes back after apologizing profusely to their coach and Alex helps the girl (whose name is Christa and who is actually really nice) out of their room. 

Montreal’s seen pictures of Alex and Brendan attending roommate-outings together. There is a video of Alex jumping a Bruin a foot taller than she is in order to defend Brendan’s honour, thus breaking unspoken gender disparities for the first time in the NHL. “Les Gally” is their package name, and they do photo shoots together, and they have been seen shirtless wearing each other’s numbers around their necks. Gorges and all their teammates know how much time they spend over at each others’ places — and by extension, Michel Therrien knows too. Their stats are compared and contrasted religiously and the Bell Centre is on its feet for them when they score goals together or when the kiss cam was set up between them. Montreal writes articles and makes posters joking about how much Brendan misses her when she hurt her leg. Les Gally is not Les Gally when one of them is missing. 

Montreal would get a kick out of Brendan wearing Alex’s jersey. 

“What’s wrong?” Brendan asks her worriedly as the two are dressing down for the night in their shared room. 

Alex dismisses it and tells him it’s nothing, but her mind is whirring as she crawls into bed. 

After Brendan falls asleep, Alex gets Claude Giroux’s number from Sidney Crosby (for two girls who apparently hate each other so much, it’s funny how they have each other’s numbers memorized). And then she texts Claude: 

_The Unofficial Commandments of Hockey Conduct for Players Without A Penis is bullshit._

A few minutes later, she gets a text back:

_who is this?? how do u know about the unofficial commandments!!_

_It’s Galchenyuk. you told me about them._

_they are not bullshit._

_they are bullshit in that you made me believe them._

_and?_

Alex has to stifle a hysterical laughter, unable to believe that she’s never seen this before. _I’m in love with Brendan Gallagher._

A beat. And then — _I know. I’m in love with someone, too. A teammate._

Alex blinks, forcing herself not to be surprised. Truthfully, she doesn’t have to try very hard.

 _everything I knew about not being allowed to date teammates — it’s all just crap we made up, thinking it’d protect us in a man’s sport, or at least give us some security,_ Alex starts. She forces herself to be brave and keep going, even if her fingers are shaking a little. She types and types and types, careful with each word she chooses, careful not to wake Brendan. _I thought Montreal would run us out of town if they suspected, I thought we would lose our jobs, I thought I’d set a bad example for women in professional sports. God, I was so fucking scared. I read every article about us. But we’re still here. The commandments only exist because we made them up and we were too afraid to break them. I can love whoever I want, and as long as I don’t purposely try drawing attention to it, as long as it doesn’t affect my game, it doesn’t matter. The press doesn’t have to know and I don’t want to be afraid anymore that they might find out. I have a great support system — the management, my family, the women in the NHL, my teammates, the city - when they’re feeling up for it. They make it easy to forget the bad crowds sometimes, you know? So fuck the press — seriously. Fuck anyone who’s ever made me doubt what I never tried doing. They don’t count for rat shit. And I think I’m finally ready to begin taking some risks in my life._

 _Son_ , Claude texts back. _daughter. whatever. that was real grown-up of you. real deep and shit. you telling me you’re only a rookie?_

Alex can’t help it — her face breaks out into the biggest grin she’s ever managed since arriving in Montreal. 

_the only chains that exist are the ones we put around our own wrists_ , she says, proud of Nail for being so wise and a little proud of herself, too. And then, because she has to, she adds — _or, you know. the patriarchy, for making it feel like a man vs woman sport and for isolating us and for making us feel so damn scared in the first place._

 _fuck the patriarchy_ , Claude says.

_fuckin yeah. fuck the patriarchy._

_fuck men_ , Claude says.

 _fuck men?_ Alex sends.

_hell. yeah. fuck hot shirtless locker room hockey-playing men._

Alex doesn’t understand this woman — but she can’t help herself and she bursts into laughter. 

Somewhere on the other bed, Brendan shifts and moans. 

Alex quickly texts, _now the only thing left to resolve is how i’m gonna get over my terrifying fear of rejection. i don’t know if i want to confess yet — but Claude, I was so close today._ It’s easy, talking about such a serious problem in such a casual manner with Claude. It makes her very legitimate fear seem much less real. 

_you don’t need to get over it. just do it._

Brendan’s awake now, and he squints at the little light coming from Alex’s side of the room. “Chucky?” he calls out groggily. “You still up?”

“Yeah,” Alex whispers. She puts her phone away and looks long and hard at Brendan’s face and wonders if Claude is right. With her phone turned off, and with the room dark as hell, and with Brendan lying just a few feet away from her, Alex’s world suddenly feels a whole lot smaller. The fear of telling Brendan rises like smog, heavy and strong, across her chest and in her throat, and she no longer feels so brave anymore. She swallows hard. Empowered to scared in seconds. But it’s okay being scared.

“Bad dream,” she says. It sure feels like she’s waking up from one, anyhow. 

“Come here,” Brendan replies. He lifts an arm and shuffles backward in his bed. 

Alex sits up. “What?”

“Sorry, I’m a cuddler when I’m tired,” Brendan admits sheepishly. 

Alex goes over to his bed and lowers herself gently next to him. She isn’t sure of their boundaries — she doesn’t want to overstep them, and she doesn’t know how Brendan feels about personal space — but as soon as her head hits the pillow, Brendan’s arm is flung across her breast and he’s pulling her in close.

Here, with her head tucked under Brendan’s chin, and their legs tangled in the sheets together, she wonders why she was ever scared in the first place. _Just do it_.

“Gally,” she begins carefully. “There’s probably something you should know.”

Brendan kisses her forehead. “I already do,” he assures her, and then Alex is drifting off to sleep.

 

 

Though the world may have shifted in its axis, it still turns just like it did every day before, only this time Alex wakes up with Brendan curled around her and his breath warm on the back of her neck.

 

 

They lose on home ice and they’re out of the playoffs. PK wasn’t right when he said that this was their year, but then again, not even PK can be right constantly. Besides, there’s always next year. 

Alex’s leg heals in time for her to join the US at the IIHF World Championships, and they win bronze. She and Anna leave for Miami almost immediately afterward. Alex isn’t good at goodbyes — and besides, this isn’t one — so she doesn’t bother with one between her teammates.

She watches the NHL awards and is disappointed when Brendan doesn’t receive the Calder Trophy he so badly deserves. She watches PK win the Norris Trophy and her heart soars for him. She watches the draft and the eighteen women who go through it. She goes to Minsk to visit her grandparents and Uncle Vladi, who’re all incredibly proud of her for her bronze medal. She chases the chickens they keep in their backyard and pretends like she’s five all over again. 

Her and Anna return to Montreal halfway through the summer and they spend time just between the two of them — shopping for handbags, or eating out. She tries making plans with Nail but he’s too busy. In August she spends four weeks training in Sarnia with Nikita. 

She Skypes with Brendan every single day. It doesn’t make her miss him less — if anything, Alex misses him even more than she ever has before. They’re closer now but the miles between them always include an ocean or a continent or a sky and that’s even worse when Alex thinks about how far they’ve come and how the business of hockey will always uproot people before it plants them down. 

They talk about everything. Not every secret comes pouring out in a single night — instead, they’re leaked and gently persuaded out upon a foundation of budding trust, so carefully built up after years of the hockey-player-conditioning to never make homes in anyone. Brendan explains that he used to talk about picking up girls around Alex because of how comfortable he’d been with her. Alex jokes about how she always tried sneaking in peeks when he was changing. 

Eventually, Alex opens up completely about their past year — like what Claude and Sidney had said to her and what Nail and Nikita taught her and how frustrated she got during her scoring slump and how weird she felt when he was concussed. She talks about the night she openly pushed Brendan away and how she used to take her necklace off in front of reporters and what she learned from all of that. 

She also learns that Brendan Gallagher is a dumb fuck who was completely oblivious about her feelings for him until he’d trapped her in that stairwell. She also learns that he’d liked her back for a long time before that. 

Actually, he first started liking her when she speared that guy in the dick. “It was really hot,” he admits to her, turning scarlet. “Not the — I mean, probably not for the guy. But the way you just went off like that? Man.” 

Alex makes a mental note to herself that Brendan might be a masochist. 

And the days continue to roll by. Alex hears rumours of the first couple in the NHL (from fellow teammates, of course, not from the press) — Claude Giroux and some smallish French-Canadian. She also hears that the Flyers’ coach knows about it and even encourages it so that there’s less locker room secrecy. It turns out Nail was right all along. 

Alex just thinks about how the average person puts up too many walls sometimes. And how the average person will believe that each of these walls is an absolute necessity in securing their happiness. 

At the end of August Alex is invited to USA’s Olympic training camp in Arlington. Brendan was staying in Edmonton during that time, but he flies all the way over to cheer her on. When they see each other, she buries her face in his jersey (technically it’s her jersey — it has her number on it) and breathes in his scent and tells him she’s missed him. Because although they never defined their relationship, at least now she knows what Brendan means to her, and what she means to Brendan, and who she is in the midst of all that. 

“Fuck, I’ve missed you so much,” Brendan says into her shoulder, his voice muffled. He might be holding back tears but Alex can’t say for sure. “You’re really —” he laughs, pulling away and rubbing at his eyes with his wrists. “I can’t even believe how much you completely messed me up. I’d wake up every morning and you’d be my first thought and I’d go to sleep every night and you’d be my last. And everywhere I went, everything I did, you’d always be my first and last and everything in between. And just, _fuck_ , how did you do this to me?” 

Alex only laughs and kisses the wetness away from his cheeks. She could say the same thing about him.

And when she joins the rest of the camp on the ice, with Brendan sitting in the stands watching her, it’s all too easy for her to press her lips to their necklace and dedicate each one of her goals to him. Not having any secrets makes her feel weightless and she’s twice as fast on the ice because of it. Being so open about everything between them is the easiest experience she’s ever had in her life. 

 

 

It’s only when the Canadiens training camp opens and they return to Montreal together (sitting beside each other on the plane, falling asleep on each other’s shoulders, with Brendan drooling a copious amount on Alex’s shoulder) that Brendan finally presses his lips gently against hers. And it’s only when they’re crowded together on the same hotel bed during their first away-game of the season — with their shoulders touching and Alex laughing loudly to something that happens in Gilmore Girls — that he turns to her and tells her, “You know. I really love you.”

Alex doesn’t mind it’s taken them this long to reach this point, though she does find it funny that he says it first. She kind of already knew, anyway. 

“I love you, too.”

They’re put on the same line again. They both score their first goal of the season in Montreal (Montreal, greatest hockey city in the world, by far — where the fans bleed red, blue, and white, and thrive on hearing good hockey stories to pass on to their grandchildren, and the press matters only when it counts — forever and always. Montreal — where the fans get a kick out of pictures of Brendan wearing Alex’s jersey at the Olympics training camp, and the earth doesn’t stop in its rotations around the sun, and the sky isn’t any less blue). It’s as exciting as it was when she made her first NHL goal ever, almost nine months ago. 

Alex celebrates it by throwing herself in Brendan’s arms and thinking, _this must be what it feels like to be alive._

It’s, in a word, exhilarating. 

 

 

_end ___


End file.
